wave after wave
by lachrymoseorange
Summary: Captain Swan post-Underworld vacation fic for future blissful perfection. Pirate hijinks and adorableness ensues. *Rated T for suggested/mentions of intimacy, but there's nothing too bad. I think.


**Author's Note** : There's too much I need to say in this little precursor to probably one of my favorite pieces to date, so. Yeah. 1) Go listen to the Mr. Probz _Waves_ cover by SoMo. 2) My knowledge of cities in California is severely limited, so please excuse any inaccuracies. 3) I love drunk Killian. I need drunk Killian. I will write more drunk Killian. 4) Thank you so much for all of your sweet reviews, but a special shout-out goes to Genevieve Kelly – just because. Go read her stories. Now. You can come back to this later.

* * *

 **wave after wave [i'm slowly drifting]**

It took some convincing. Some severe, hidden scheming with Henry in the underbelly of the Jolly Roger, late-night haggling over the phone, and though she may have hated to admit it – several bribes of hot chocolate laced heavily with rum within the course of a single evening.

She even went so far as to forego the cinnamon dust because she knew it made his nose stuffy – an overflowing well of fun and hysterics watching _that_ was, which is why she insisted upon sneakily adding a few sprinkles to their drinks every other night after supper, if only to cackle evilly as the bloodthirsty plundering-and-pillaging pirate known as _Captain Hook_ sneezed obnoxiously loud and still stubbornly vowed that nothing was bothering him. She knew he was choking on his frustration all the while, aware that he was often too mulish to ever admit a weakness, even to her, but her hands were full enough with wiping laughter-wrought tears from her face that she couldn't pity him and magic away his discomfort until the giggles ceased.

His vexation at her never lasted, not when a flick of her wrist rid him of his itchy throat – _temporarily_ , mind you – and especially not when she coquettishly admitted her plans for how she envisioned spending the remainder of the evening tangled with him in their sheets.

Once her laughter had died down enough for her to speak, of course.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, glassy-eyed and flushed and just slightly swaying on his feet, he finally agreed, but not before sashaying over to her and touching his lips to hers, tasting of sweet chocolatey rum and cool spearmint and innocent love and _Killian_.

There had been no more discussion of the topic for the rest of the night – and even if she'd wanted to ask assurance, he had been too busy igniting flames in her blood to answer, and before long she, too, was swept away with losing herself in him.

She woke curled around him, guilty as all get-out and nervously fidgeting against the pillows as she waited for him to wake. It took her the rest of the morning – mere hours before they were scheduled to depart – before she grabbed her courage by the scruff and broached the subject once more, to check, to make sure, to test the theory that minds muddled by drink spoke sober hearts.

She needn't have worried, in the end.

Because this was _Killian_. Everything was painstakingly simple with him.

"Swan," he said patiently, coming to stand before her, running his thumb over the dimple in her chin, "I'd follow you off the edges of the earth, and if you're so hell-bent to take a sailor out of the ocean and set him flying in the heavens, gods above, you know I'll let you."

Eyes wet, she marched right into his arms and pressed herself as close to him as she possibly could. She savored the quiet strength she knew him to possess until he pulled back with an almost-annoyed-but-actually-stunned huff, growling, "But if you still think I need convincing, by all means, lass, please continue. Just know it'll take less of this –" he gestured between them with his hook, failing hopelessly at keeping the smile off his mouth "– and more of _this_."

He surged forward and caught her lips again in a fierce caress of clashing teeth and insistent tongues.

When she was beginning to feel lightheaded at the lack of oxygen, she stepped a hairsbreadth away from him, using the reprieve to straighten out her jumbled thoughts. After she'd regained her breath and felt Killian relax into her, she whispered conspiratorially, "Glad you're on board, Captain. It's a shame we leave in two hours. I was just starting to enjoy myself and the whole getting-you-drunk-every-night thing."

He tensed immediately, eyes shooting open, peering down at her with an electric blue shock. "Wait – _what_?"

She grinned, smoothing a finger over his bottom lip. "You said you were fine with it, remember?"

Two spots of pink burned high in his cheeks, and for the first time in a long while she saw fear creep into his gaze. "Aye – only _barely_ , thanks to you and your blasted chocolate concoction – but, Emma, I didn't think you were serious – I mean, have you _seen_ those bloody metal fish in the sky? There are more solid rubbish bins, and there's no way we'd ever make it to 'quality euphoria' – or whatever the hell you called it – alive and why does this not bother – Emma, bloody hell, _why are you laughing at me_?"

The look on his face, by golly, she didn't think she's ever seen anything more precious. His eyes were wide as moons, shining with uncertainty underneath disbelieving, furrowed brows. His hand and hook alike moved with agitated swathes through the air, the force of his ministrations shaking a strand of inky hair into his eyes, and if she didn't know any better, she'd say his voice had cracked a few times, but that was neither here nor there.

Sweet Lord, this _man._

She took a breath and tried to erase the adoring smile she knew painted her face, reversing the step he'd taken aback several moments earlier, and reached out to brush the fringe off his forehead. "Killian, it's going to be fine. Trust me. We'll order champagne and you can kiss me 30,000 feet in the air and we'll fall asleep somewhere above New York and wake up in _California_. San Diego, to be exact."

His shoulders slumped, seemingly defeated, but she knew a piece of him had been won over by the thought of conquering yet another element with a kiss, if the glimmer in his eye was something to go by.

"Where's that swashbuckling, adventurous pirate I've come to know and love?" she asked playfully, flicking his ear. She waited for his eyes to come up, for the small, shy smile he'd started wearing for only her since they'd returned from the Underworld to make an appearance in all its crooked glory before murmuring, "Ah, there he is." She traced the contours of it briefly with gentle strokes, and when he kissed the pads of her fingertips, she knew she'd been forgiven.

His eyes bored into hers, burrowing underneath the stone walls she often sequestered herself in, and she found she couldn't look away and tried clearing her throat, but there was nothing to be done. When he looked at her like she set the planets in motion and had the tides under her beck and call, like he wasn't completely certain she was real – when he looked at her _like that_ …

She could only gaze back, lost in those orbs the color of the sea until a thought niggled in the corner of her mind.

 _How the hell am I going to convince him to leave his hook behind?_

* * *

He fought hard, unyielding to her voiced demands, but finally acquiesced to her scalding, pleading kisses pressed along nearly every inch of his skin.

And if they barely made it through security before the final flight call, eh, it was worth it.

* * *

Almost 6 hours later, she blinked, reeling as she walked hand-in-hand with the love of her life about to embark on their first hard-fought vacation.

The flight had gone more smoothly than she'd imagined once some color returned to Killian's cheeks – the dizzying ascent left him pale and trembling, and she'd allowed him to bury his face in her hair and take a few steadying breaths.

But once the plane leveled off, sailing smoothly through the skies, he calmed enough to release her hand and open the window cover to stare out at the great expanse before him. The afternoon light flooded their roomier-but-still-cozy first-class section, the clouds brilliantly white and the atmosphere a clear and limitless azure.

He stared at the sky; she stared at him.

When he finally tore his focus from the window long enough to beam breathtakingly at her – his eyes so light a blue they were nearly colorless – she couldn't smother her own smile before the flight attendant breezed through to deliver their champagne.

It was blissfully perfect.

Particularly when he stole a kiss first at 10,000 feet, then again at 30,000, the taste of the crisp drink on his tongue far more intoxicating than the flute itself would ever be.

So when they bumbled out of the airport, bags in tow, into the cool, salty nighttime air of California to find a taxi, she yearned to be back on the plane – despite the soothing wind and lack of unbearable humidity.

That was when he looked at her again with the same light in his eyes, and her heart swelled once more.

* * *

The drive to Crystal Pier from the airport took less than 30 minutes, and with the absence of traffic, it was nearing enjoyable. The taxi driver was a kind man of few words, so for the most part they passed the time either gazing out the window at the blurring lights of the small suburban neighborhoods or smiling at the other with stars in their irises, and she couldn't complain.

She was glad Henry had decided on San Diego over Los Angeles, as it likely would have been too much of a change of pace. Storybrooke was quaint and still, save for the multitudes of evil power-mongers erupting every so often, but still starkly contrasted San Diego's easy movement that bustled with harmless activity – wading through the waves, eating along the boardwalk, and staying in the romantic cottages on the pier. And those were only the activities she saw herself partaking in with Killian at her side – all loose jeans and Henleys and sandals and sunglasses.

Los Angeles, on the other hand, still had its perks, but it finally boiled down to being too far from the water, and she wasn't sure when – or if – Killian had seen the Pacific, but figured regardless that he would feel more comfortable with the wash of the tide rolling underneath him.

She knew the man would have been happy simply being somewhere with her, but with the way his eyes lit up when they arrived, she knew she'd made the right choice. The manager was expecting them, and eagerly let them through the gate – already closed to the public for the night. It slammed shut behind where they stood, content to just breathe together after such a hectic day. Then Killian was grasping her hand tighter, pulling her along behind him as he counted the doors.

The cottages ran in two rows along the pier itself so that, depending on their location, their patios and windows faced either the beach or ocean. As they walked further from the entrance – Henry had lucked out and found one of the more isolated cabins with a nearly panoramic ocean view – the rush of the waves under their feet grew louder. She could feel their power in the gentle swaying of the pier, and her heart pulsed out a staggering beat.

The cabins themselves weren't all that modern or spacious, resembling more her parent's loft in that aspect, but theirs was beyond perfect. It was comprised of two rooms really – with one being the bathroom – while the living room, kitchen, and bedroom coupled together. All navy blues and light, salty wood, she didn't think it possible for Killian to belong any more than he did exploring the space barefoot and in dark flannel.

It took only a second for him to return to her, leading her backwards until her calves hit the bed with a smoldering look in eyes that were very nearly black in the dim, purplish light from the evening sky. He flopped onto the bed after her, crawling nearer so he could rise up and kiss her senseless.

He'd thoroughly stolen her breath by the time he sat back an inch to brush his nose along hers. "Any plans tonight, my Swan?" he asked huskily.

She pretended to think a tic. "Nah. Thought I'd just fly out here with a beautiful man and wile the time away sleeping."

"Beautiful man, you say?" His words were quiet, nearly drowned out by the crash of the waves echoing in through the open windows, but the undercurrent of emotion in those four words had tears stinging her eyes.

"Beautiful and kind and good and awe-inspiring," she whispered fiercely, feeling his breathing hitch. His gaze was latched onto hers, an uncertain frown marring his features. She felt a shudder run through him then, and knew he needed a moment to comprehend what she saw as simple truth. Pressing a quick kiss to his forehead, she guided him to her so that his head lay in the crook of her neck, and waited until he inhaled and exhaled more evenly.

"Give a man some warning before you do that again, lass. Took the breath right out of me."

"I won't apologize," she quipped, rolling over him so that she straddled his hips, allowing her hands to hold her weight on either side of his head. She studied him, the brightness of his eyes, the flush of his cheeks, the smattering of hair peeking out from the undone collar of his shirt.

A lone finger ghosted over the scar underneath his eye as she drank him in. "Add irresistible to that list, would you?"

He grinned suddenly. "There's a list now?"

"Yep. But I think I need some more inspiration."

"Do you, now?" His tongue ran a quick stripe over his bottom lip, and she found naked desire glowing in his eyes rather than sadness, and she reveled in the victory of it.

"What would you recommend we do?" she asked, molding her lips to his before he could reply. For several long minutes he let her torture him, her hands running through his hair, down his chest, and basked in the heat pooling below his waist.

"A quickie? Since you crave sleep so?" he offered once he could breathe again, eyes simmering with mischief. She pulled back suddenly, shocked at his use of the word before a smile broke out on her face. There was mirth in her crystalline emerald eyes, and when she pressed her hips into his, his face brightened excitedly, and then he was moving so that their lips found each other once more.

"Yes, I think a _quickie_ is just what we need."

* * *

In the early hours before dawn, she awoke to a full heart despite an empty bed. Killian's flannel shirt was crumpled near the edge as if he'd wanted her to find it, and she yanked it over her shoulders, eyes scanning for her pirate.

The patio door was open, his silhouette at the railing illuminated by the light of the coming sun. She tiptoed over to him, careful not to drag her feet overmuch so as not to catch splinters, and snuggled up underneath his arm. He shifted easily, welcoming her warmth – he was shirtless, his normally warm skin now chilled in the swift breeze coming in over the tide – and wrapping his arms around her, her back to his front.

"Morning, love," he murmured into her ear. He took his hand from her waist to push her hair off her neck and began trailing kisses from the top of her shoulder up the curve of her neck, his beard alternatingly rough and soft against her skin.

"What're you doing up so early?" Her fingers traipsed their way behind her, stroking the side of his face before encountering his unruly hair. He didn't answer immediately as she thought he would, expecting some flippant remark about being a sailor and waking with the sunrise.

Instead, he seemed strangely somber, breathing slowly in, out, and in again, his hold on her tightening almost imperceptibly before answering. "I was remembering throughout my many lifetimes… how small, how insignificant I was. Still am, I suppose, in the whole grand scheme of things, but with you, I feel like so much _more._ I wasted centuries fighting to find my way through revenge – but with you, it's so much easier to simply _be_. To _love_. There's no preoccupation with what I feel is my worth – there's no reason to be significant. I just am, and I woke this morning shocked to find that I was at peace with that."

She stared out at the great expanse of water before her, merely a drop in the jar God poured the ocean from, and she understood. If only a little bit.

But that didn't mean she knew how to respond to his soft declaration.

"I wanted to thank you, Emma, for giving me that. For helping me find my peace."

It took her a while to find her voice. _You're welcome_ seemed too empty, emotionless, not nearly enough to encompass all the feelings coursing through her, and she finally decided that stringing together a sentence would not an accurate response make.

In place of her silence, she turned in his arms, reaching up on her toes to press a grateful-of-course-it's-not-a-problem kiss over his mouth, seeking to _show_ him rather than tell him all that he meant to her.

"I love you. More than I'll ever be able to say," she whispered, finding her own tranquility being reflected back at her in his light eyes.

The corners of his mouth lifted in a gentle smile. "I'm glad to hear you say that, love. I was afraid you'd go with something along the lines of 'that's just how I roll' and I think I'd have to quit before the second day of our vacation."

She pretended to pout, though a smile of her own was aching in her cheeks, understanding that he needed a slice of levity after such heaviness. "Because _that_ sounds like something I would say in the face of vulnerability. Right. So, what? You're not gonna say it back now?"

"Well, only if you _insist_."

"This is me insisting."

He coughed out a laugh before falling into seriousness again. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "I love you, Emma Swan. Every single thing about you." He punctuated each word of the latter statement with a kiss pressed to her nose, each cheek, her forehead, and finally her lips.

"Very good. Now come back to bed. It's too cold without you."

"As you wish, my love."


End file.
